Tied Up in Knots
by EmitTime
Summary: Austria lands himself in a precarious position with the Bad Touch Trio. Will he twist things in his favor?


**AN: This little whatnot has been sitting on my computer for a while. I figured I may as well upload it, as I've been pretty much dead to this website for a couple months now. ^^;**

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**Tied Up in Knots**

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"I can't do this!" Roderich huffed, his cheeks flushed and brows furrowed. He angled himself to the right, limbs trembling from strain. He could feel Gilbert next to him, their shoulders bumping occasionally. On his other side, Francis' hand rested close to his left knee. They always put him in the middle for this, and oh, what a pain it was...

"C'mon, Specs, just stretch a bit more! Work a little!"

"Oho, _L'Atriche_, don't quit now when it's finally getting interesting." Francis added, patting the dark-haired man's knee. "You just need to relax."

"Relax? You're killing me!" The musician complained. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, and he panted slightly every now and then with exertion.

"Maybe we should have mercy on him, _amigos_." The soft, sympathetic suggestion came from Antonio's direction.

Roderich swallowed down a plea of his own, bowing his head as he struggled to comply with their latest instruction. He could feel the burn of the stretch along his calves, and Ludwig was probably right when he told him that he needed to start working out. Roderich had to admit, this _was_ slightly pitiful...

"Well, I am surprised he's lasted this long." Francis conceded sagely, hardly breaking a sweat as he rested smartly on one knee. "Don't break yourself, _cher_."

"Hey, he's the one who agreed to it in the first place!" Prussia pointed out, his bare ankle brushing past Austria's wrist as he moved.

"Only because you three wouldn't leave me be until I joined your foolishness!" Austria defended himself, still attempting to stretch his right leg further. He was balanced precariously on all fours. It was difficult, with his knees bent at odd angles and his arms locked, to simply hold the awkward pose, much less _move into an even worse one_...

Reaching out, Francis placed a steadying on the pianist's shoulder. "Honestly, where has all your flexibility gone? No one is this bad at positioning themselves." He chuckled softly.

"Well, excuse me for not having as much _practice_ as you seem to have acquired over the years." Roderich arched an eyebrow, turning his head away resolutely and refusing to lean into the gesture. "Honestly, I fail to see the enjoyment..."

"Hey, don't hold him up, Francis! That's cheating!" Gilbert complained. "How long has it been, anyway?"

The snowy-haired man leaned over slightly to take a sip of his beer. Roderich had to observe to himself that it was admirable the man could still easily _reach_ his drink. He wasn't sure how he was going to get to that step when it came...

Antonio glanced at the clock. "Fifteen minutes, actually."

"The bet was for twenty, _non_?" Francis asked, nodding toward the dark-haired musician.

"You bet it was." Chuckling, Gilbert turned his head to smirk at their victim. "Think you can last five more minutes, Priss? Don't fall over!"

"_Gusch._" Austria retorted with a glare over his spectacles, which were slowly beginning to slip down his nose.

The albino's brow creased. "What did you just say?"

"If you can't be bothered to learn Austrian German, I'm not going to help you." Roderich muttered, before turning his attention back to the task at hand. If he could simply stretch his leg out far enough, then there was hope...hope that he could endure the rest and retain some modicum of pride in the end.

In many scenarios – those which did not involve the Bad Touch Trio – Austria could be a very patient man. He could spend hours upon music, artistry, culinary endeavors, and of course, the needs of his people. Years of conditioning in fine manners had taught him when to shut his eyes, when to hold his tongue, when to smile politely and when to hide his smirks behind an elegant hand.

And yet, all it took was the right people, in the right situation, to turn the man full of class into one full of sass, and irritation. Roderich was _not in the mood _for this game. His tank top was riding up his hips as he bent over, he was in the most undignified position, Gilbert and Francis were pressing ever closer, and _why_, why did he even bother taking the bait anymore when these three always put him in such _humiliating situations_...?

He finally touched his toes down on the required red circle, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Hey, it's about time!"

_"Magnifique."_ Francis piped up on the other side of Austria, languidly cracking his neck. "Let's move on, shall we?"

"Wait, wait!" Gilbert cried out. "He hasn't taken a swig yet!"

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Roderich snapped. "You're impossible!"

He glanced at the bottle of beer resting several inches away. With a heavy sigh, he extended his left arm as much as he could, tightening his core for balance as he reached over further to snatch the bottle up. The burning of stretching muscles made him grimace as he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a sip.

Pulling the black fabric of his tank top down, he returned to his position.

"There." The pianist breathed, chest rising and falling with harsh pants. "I hope you three are prepared to pay up."

"_Ja, Ja_." Prussia scoffed. "Sixty cases of Switzerland's finest chocolate..._if _you can last." A sly glint entered ruby eyes. "Why don't you just bat your eyes at him and ask for it?"

"Because I'd rather you three pay for it, and so would he." Roderich deflected primly, without an ounce of shame. He could pass off the reddening of his cheeks as pure exhaustion, after all... "What's next, Antonio?"

The soft 'thwack' of fingernails upon cardboard came from Spain's direction. "Left hand, green!" He replied cheerfully.

Laughing, Francis and Gilbert took only moments to move their hands and grab their bottles. Quickly after securing their next move, they returned to the real amusement of the game - watching Roderich struggle with his placement on the mat.

"Good luck!"

"You're having too much fun, Gilbert." Antonio accused lightly, unable to hide his own grin.

"Oh, _cher_, if only you could see yourself." Francis tsked, smiling beseechingly. "How can you seem so graceful, yet do so terribly at this?"

"I don't know." Austria turned carefully, the mat shifting slightly beneath him. He was forced to plant his hand next to France's, drawing one leg over Prussia's own and reaching back for his beer.

This was ridiculous, and he was sorely tempted to lie down on the cheap plastic mat and give up, but he couldn't admit defeat to these three so easily... Besides, if he lost, he would no doubt have to comply with their silly demands for an even longer period of time...

"Right leg, yellow!"

"Oh, you're going down, Specs!"

Roderich let out a low groan. "I _hate_ Twister!"

"It's not _just_ Twister, it's Awesome Beer Twister!"

"Whatever!"

"Three minutes!"

Oh, the insane things he did for his pride and the sake of bets...

**.x.x.x.**

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><p>"You ordered...sixty...boxes of chocolate from my place. For one person?" Vash repeated dubiously over speaker-phone.<p>

"_Ja,_ well, that's what he wanted. We didn't expect for him to last that long... We really wore him out, though!" Gilbert glanced over to where Roderich was lying sprawled across the mat, eyes-half-lidded. He still had enough energy to scowl, so that was a good sign.

"Now it's my turn to pick a game, isn't it?" The bespectacled man murmured, rolling onto his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows. "We're playing Monopoly - Austrian Edition."

A collective groan rose from the other nations.

"You're scary with that game, Specs!"

"_Pas juste!_ You had twenty minutes, and you want to give us hours of torture in return?"

Spain wrung his hands, a frantic gleam entering his eyes. "I always end up broke when you're the banker!"

"You know, I have to go. You're all on your own." Vash added, quickly hanging up.

"Suit yourselves." Crossing his ankles neatly, Roderich feigned a sigh of disappointment even as he felt the beginnings of a smile tug at his lips. "I suppose I'm finished here, then."

He might not be as flexible as France, as muscular as Prussia or as easygoing as Spain, but Austria did have one advantage to surviving game night with those three. He knew how to trick them - secure the prize, threaten them with Monopoly and get them to go away for a while.

It worked every time!

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><p><strong>.x.x.x.<strong>

_End_

**.x.x.x.**

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><p><strong>AN: Title inspired by the Twister slogan.<strong>

**I just find the idea of the BTT having game night amusing, and of course they'd have to rope other people into their shenanigans at times!**

**Translations:  
>Gusch - 'shut up' in Austrian German.<br>Pas Juste - 'not just' in French.**


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